ODD week this... In London, Wednesday, taking the tube, and standing, between Kings Cross Station and Piccadilly Circus, an elderly man, at least in his late 70s, stood up and said: “Please, take my seat”.

Surprised, I pointed out to him I was neither pregnant nor vulnerable (though I do wear contact lenses) and that while his offer was kind, I was fine.

“No, I insist,” he said. “Please...”

He was well dressed, obviously well-meaning, and for some reason felt he had to do this.

Not wanting to upset him (old people can get nasty), I first asked some of the women on the carriage, who were also standing, if they wanted to take up his offer, but all declined.

Clearly it was intended just for me.

So, feeling more than a little embarrassed, I gingerly squeezed past him, sat down, and while he stood for the next four stops, I just smiled inanely at everyone opposite.

The second ‘odd’ incident was on Thursday, coming out of Sainsbury’s in Magdalen Street, Oxford.

Opposite, of course, is the graveyard of St Mary Magdalen, and I suddenly found myself thinking: ‘Yeah, should I die, it really wouldn’t be such a bad place to be buried’.

I mean there’d always be plenty to look at, what with buses and cyclists coming and going, and Debenhams is across the road.

Yet only when I woke the next day did I think this strange.

After all, If you believe in life after death and all the baggage which accompanies this leap of faith, why should your final resting place need to be so aesthetically pleasing?

And if you don’t believe, then it really shouldn’t make the slightest difference, since all that’ll be waiting for you is zilch. Eternal zilch in fact.

On the other hand, the geography of one’s final resting place matters to some people who want those who do choose to remember them, to do so in a location that is both comforting and reassuring.

Alternatively, if our spirits do stay earthbound, maybe we should do everything we can to ensure our spiritual wanderings are at least conducted somewhere that in life we wouldn’t have minded hanging around – like a Starbucks or Ann Summers.

In fact, it reminded me of a flight I once took to Florida when, prior to take-off, I found myself studying closely the looks and tics of my fellow passengers.

What if, I thought, these people represent the sum total of everyone I’d ever have to talk to, if this was indeed our pre-flight check-in before eternity?

It was a terrifying thought, certainly, but it did help me realise that where you choose to be buried is nowhere near as important as whom you’re buried next to.

Now, some people have already got this sorted by purchasing family plots.

But you know, when I think what some family Christmases can be like, I’m not so sure...

Finally, tomorrow is Mother’s Day. And God help anyone trying to choose the right gift (because it’s always wrong).

Mums say: “I don’t want anything. I’d rather you spent the money on yourself”.

But what happens when you do just that?

E-X-A-C-T-L-Y.

Might as well start looking for that perfect resting place right now.